


Wink & You'll Miss It

by redscudery



Series: Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Red Pants, Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Possesive!Sherlock and bottom!John, sherlock insisting they *winkwonk* right as lestrade texts him with john bein' all john saying there's no time and shit so they end up *winkwonk*ing in the cab on the way. (public-ish sex and frottage)</p><p>A Saturday night fic fill for platinum-clitoris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wink & You'll Miss It

“You were looking at Molly today.” Sherlock paces towards John, staring at him intently.

“Well, it is considered polite to look at people that are talking to you.”

“But you were looking, John.”

“Maybe I was. Her sweater was flattering and I’m not dead, you know.”

Sherlock winds his hand around the back of John’s neck. 

“And I’m very glad, there is no doubt. But do you truly have to look quite so loudly?”

“You are such a possessive child.”

“I have never liked to share.” Sherlock is about six inches from John’s face now, and his hand is on John’s carotid artery.

“I know.”

Sherlock’s mouth moves closer, stopping a bare breath from John’s.

“And I won’t share.” John tips up his chin but Sherlock is not ready to give in to him and draws back.

“Kiss me.”

“I do love to hear you beg.”

John draws back, stung. 

“That’s not begging, you mad bastard.”

“It’s a damn good start.” Sherlock grabs the back of John’s neck and pulls him in, overwhelming him with slick soft lips and firm hands. 

Sherlock’s mobile beeps.

“Mphrm mpr.” John tries to pull away and can’t; he can just manage a mumble through Sherlock’s teeth and tongue. Sherlock keeps kissing him, sliding his hands down John’s back and gripping his hips, pulling them together. It’s dizzying and hot, and John is just giving up on the text, sliding his hands up into Sherlock’s hair, when his own mobile beeps.

“MRplk! Sherlock!” John does free himself this time. “You know that’s Lestrade with an address. We need to get over there, you know we do. Anderson’s on.”

“On second thought, I could just let Anderson do his worst. Lestrade would deserve it.” Sherlock says, reaching for John’s fly button. John bounces out of the way.

“You know you’d be upset to miss this. Come on. We can make a date for later.”

“But I want you right now, John. I want to suck you until you’re painfully hard, and then bend you over the kitchen table and fuck you until you’ve come all over your belly and forgotten everyone’s name but mine.”

John’s knees nearly give out. Damn that eidetic memory! Sherlock always deploys the most devastating erotic bombs at just the right moment, and the effect of those filthy words in his perfect mouth is making John painfully hard all by itself.

“Sherlock…” He knows his warning tone is not very convincing. Sherlock’s already opened the fly button and his long fingers are at that danger spot right under the waistband of his pants. John knows that Sherlock can be stopped now, but only just; if he sees that John’s pants are his favourite red ones, it’s all over.

Sherlock’s mobile beeps again, and John’s does too. Sherlock’s fingers take no notice. John tries to step away, but Sherlock’s fingers grip the elastic of his pants. 

“Boys?!” Mrs Hudson’s voice echoes up the stairwell. 

Saved, John thinks, although he’s not really as grateful as perhaps he should be. 

Sherlock stamps his foot in disgust. 

“Oh, very well.” He cuts his eyes sideways at John. “I owe you.”

“I look forward to it.” John’s a bit breathless, but he tries to carry that retort off with a little smugness anyway.

“Come on then. What are you waiting for?” Sherlock’s already switched gears, halfway down the stairs, firing off what is an undoubtedly rude message to Lestrade. John grabs his coat and goes. 

They find a cab without difficulty, but there’s traffic, and it is some distance to the crime scene. Sherlock appears to be sulking, so John settles in to ignore him. 

They’ve barely passed the Royal Veterinary College when Sherlock speaks, without looking at him. 

“Your flies are undone.”

“Oh,” John is a bit surprised, because usually Sherlock doesn’t get his sulk over with quite so fast. “Ta.” He lifts his hips a bit to get the zipper up. 

Then he notices Sherlock staring. Bloody hell. He’s seen the pants.

“Has laundry day come around again so quickly, John, or are those just for me?” He’s so close, breathing in John’s ear, the vibrations of his voice travelling down John’s spine and settling in his cock. John glances nervously at the cabbie. He hopes beyond hope that they’re not going to get dumped or worse.

He should, really, be able to tell Sherlock no. He could, perhaps. But right now, with the detective’s full attention on him, and his hand travelling along John’s thigh, he doesn’t want to. God help him, he wants Sherlock to keep doing what he’s doing, slide his hand to the fly button and, oh, lowering the zip as quietly as he can. Where and how Sherlock learned to unzip trousers so silently he doesn’t want to know, especially as Sherlock exposes the red pants and unceremoniously takes John’s nearly erect cock in his hand. Where or how he’s done it, John doesn’t know, but Sherlock’s thumb is damp with something—saliva? Lube?—and is teasing him fully erect. He arches his hips into that beautiful hand, and then Sherlock’s mouth is on his, kissing him in an onslaught of controlled passion. John never wants to stop when Sherlock kisses him like this; it says what Sherlock has never said so far, that he loves John, more than anything.

Just that is nearly enough to send him over the edge, the fact that Sherlock is willing to hold back his own intense desire to please him. Sherlock has settled into a rhythm now, coordinating the movement of his mouth and hand so that John is conscious of nothing now but want, rising and rising. When he comes, he moans his pleasure into Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock swallows the sound as he cups his hand around John’s cock. 

They break apart, reluctantly. John is breathing hard; Sherlock is still apparently unaffected, whisking his handkerchief out of his pocket. John sees, though, his dilated pupils and slightly pink cheeks, and reaches out to caress his erection through his trousers. This is more risky; Sherlock is sitting on the side of the cab more visible to the cabbie. 

“We’re almost there, John.” Clear message. John zips his trousers and waits.

It’s dark and the flashing lights are visible for several blocks before they arrive. Sherlock asks the cabbie to drop them just before the scene, citing traffic. How the smirk on his face isn’t evident to the whole world John doesn’t know, but they pay and leave the cab without further mishap.

He is completely unsurprised when Sherlock grabs his hand and pulls him into a hedge. 

“I believe you were looking for a dark alley?” Sherlock says. “This is the best I could find.”

John pulls Sherlock down and kisses him, slowly. He loves doing this, when he’s come and Sherlock hasn’t, because it is so easy to make Sherlock fall apart. He slides his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, tastes him, nibbles his lower lip. His fingers are soft along the front of Sherlock’s trousers, touching his hipbones, his belly, his thighs. Sherlock’s cock is hard and insistent, and his mouth tries to pull all that it can from John’s, but John is in no rush now, and he resists, just enough to make Sherlock grumble in frustration against his mouth. John reaches back and cups Sherlock’s arse, holding him at that spot, sensitive even through trousers, where buttock meets thigh. He pulls Sherlock in, allowing him some friction, and Sherlock takes it, eager as always to rush headlong into pleasure. 

“Sherlock?” John freezes. It’s Lestrade- he must have seen them leave the cab. 

“Don’t stop.” It’s barely a sound at all against John’s lips, but Sherlock’s voice is taut and desperate. 

John turns his head carefully so that his mouth is against Sherlock’s ear. He aligns Sherlock’s cock against his thigh and pulls him close. As quietly as possible, he begins to talk—Sherlock’s not the only one that remembers things—as they rock back and forth.

“Do you like this, hiding so close to Lestrade and everyone that knows us? Do you like knowing that any minute they could see us?” Sherlock is breathing harder and John knows he’s having trouble keeping quiet. 

“Sherlock!” Lestrade’s voice is getting closer.

“I know you liked making me come in that cab- I’m still sticky, but I’m getting hard again.”  
You’re going to be much stickier, though. I’d suck you if I could, down on my knees in the dark,” At this, Sherlock lets out a little ‘unf’ sound; he’s close. 

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you? Nothing but a warm mouth around you in the dark. But we don’t have time; Lestrade could find us any minute. So I’m going to make you come in your pants like a teenager, aren’t I? You’re going to rub against me, thinking about how dangerous this is, thinking about how good this is, until you…” John’s voice is cut off by Sherlock turning his head and kissing John with a bruising force as he convulses against John’s thigh. It’s over in seconds, and Sherlock drops his head to John’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

“I’ll get you for this.” 

“SHERLOCK!” The time-honoured sound of the DI, aggravated. 

“I hope you will.” John grins, and follows Sherlock into the light.


End file.
